


Sequel to "Kurt's Story" (Part of the "Don't Look Back" Verse)

by SkewedReality



Series: Don't Look Back [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkewedReality/pseuds/SkewedReality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into Kurt’s life as a slave from his first owner up to Blaine. Part of the “Don’t Look Back” verse</p><p>-contains violence, mentions of non-con, abuse, and slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sequel to "Kurt's Story" (Part of the "Don't Look Back" Verse)

It was easy to lose track of the time when its passing meant nothing.

Nothing meant anything when the only thing in Kurt’s world was pain and humiliation. He’d try to sleep as much as possible but even sleeping hurt, because he’d dream of memories of better times and wake up on a cold floor in a world where he meant nothing, _was_ nothing. 

The pain in his heart faded eventually, numbness washing over him, resignation sinking in. This was his life now and it was best if he just got used to it, prepared himself for what came every day. He wasn’t at home anymore and he’d realized long ago that this wasn’t just a nightmare; he wasn’t just going to wake up one morning in a cold sweat and find himself in his own bed. 

No. That dream had long passed. 

He’d been passed around between owners, some worse than others but never anything close to  _good_ . One owner had always insisted that Kurt shower before he’d fuck him and would always joke about how he was spoiling him as he pulled the towel from Kurt’s waist and shoved him toward the bed. 

That had been early on, just how early, he couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. They’d gotten worse after that. 

The last owner had been the worst, calling himself a traditionalist. Kurt had stayed with him the longest. He felt himself getting weaker and knew it was only a matter of time before he wouldn’t be able to work or provide the services that he’d been purchased for. In a sick part of his brain, Kurt almost looked forward to that day. No more humiliation, no more pain, no more shivering himself to sleep, no more crying useless tears.

Just, sleep. 

A sleep he wouldn’t be dragged from by a hard boot kick to the back, a sleep he  _couldn’t_ be dragged from at all. 

He’d tried to block everything out, forcing himself to forget it each night as he was locked in the relative safety of the backyard shed that served as his quarters, force himself to fall into a restless sleep and pretend that he wasn’t going to wake up in pain. He was  _always_ in pain. It always hurt. But he got used to pain. 

The months dragged on into years and the weakness was taking Kurt over. He was sick. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d eaten more than the slice of bread he’d stolen the morning before. 

He’d eaten the food too quickly and his body rejected it. He’d gotten caught throwing up. 

The punishment hadn’t been worth the offense. It left him weaker, left him with lash marks on his back and legs. It hurt to walk, but he’d been dragged to his shed by his hair, the frozen snow stinging his bare feet. 

He’d been thrown inside the shed, beaten and fucked hard. Then he’d been given a warning, what was coming if he “put one more toe out of line”. The shed door slammed and the sharp click of the lock sliding home was the last thing Kurt remembered before he passed out, cold and hurt. 

It was another cold day when his sickness and exhaustion had finally overcome him. He’d been bringing food to the table  at breakfast, the smell of the food  on the plates dragging barbed wire through his stomach. Hunger wracked his body, but he didn’t dare touch anything on the plates. 

He remembered carrying the plates and feeling dizzy before hearing the crash of dishes on the floor and a pain in his head and then feeling nothing at all until the sound of furious shouting filled the kitchen. 

He wanted to apologize, but even if his throat wasn’t so sore that he couldn’t speak, he knew it wouldn’t do any good, so he kept silent as he was dragged back through the snow. His owner screamed at him, vile words that Kurt had long since grown used to. Heavy kicks crashed into his body and he felt traitor tears sliding down his cheeks at the pain. But a final threat rang through, the word “reject” hanging in the air as the door slammed shut. He was too tired to care, a fit of coughs wracked his abused body. He coughed until he passed out, falling into a dreamless unconsciousness. 

He woke to the sound of voices right outside and briefly wondered if this was how it was going to end. If the last thing he’d ever see was the inside of an empty shed. He just closed his eyes as the men outside talked about his fate. He didn’t listen, didn’t want to hear. He was just too tired. 

The door opened and he blinked at the sudden light as he was dragged out onto the snow, kneeling in front of the two men, his eyes cast toward the ground.

“You’re going with him,” his owner said, his voice sounded bored, as though he was being put-upon to have to deal with Kurt at all. “Take off your pants. Those jeans are still good. Don’t wanna waste ‘em.” 

Kurt tried to stand to take off his pants, but his legs shook until they gave out, earning him a swift kick to the hip. He managed to strip off the jeans, falling back into the snow the minute he’d gotten them off. His owner ripped the jeans away from him and tossed them through the open shed door. 

The other man pulled Kurt by the arm, reaching into his own pocket to grab a large red marker and wrenching the back of Kurt’s shirt up, pressing the tip of the pen hard against his back and writing a word that, even though he couldn’t see, Kurt knew what it was. Reject. 

“Get in the back,” he commanded, pointing as he let Kurt’s shirt fall back into place. 

Kurt scrambled to get over to where a pick up truck was parked, reaching up to pull himself into the truck bed, but he fell back down. The man rolled his eyes and threw him inside onto a pile of blankets. Kurt pulled the blankets over his bare legs and jumped as the tailgate was slammed shut. He closed his eyes and buried himself in the blankets, falling asleep despite the cold. It had been so long since he’d had blankets. 

He woke up briefly as he felt himself be picked up and carried before being dropped onto the floor. He was finally warm in the blankets, so he kept his eyes shut. 

“I’ve got a booth to work today, but I’m taking care of you right after. Lucky for Randy, I was stopping by the landfill on my way home anyway,” the man said easily.

Sounds echoed around him, the familiar sound of a market. He just wanted to sleep. He knew it would do no good to try and fight; he’d lose. He was too weak and too tired, so he just slept. 

The next thing he registered was feeling hands touching him, threading through his hair. It felt foreign to have someone touching him without pain. He opened his eyes and met the warm amber gaze of a boy, around his own age, but definitely still a boy. There was kindness and innocence in the boy’s eyes.

His hand was gone just as quickly as it had appeared and the boy walked away. He heard a soft voice talking to the man who’d picked him up, but he tuned it out, closing his eyes again, too weak to keep them open any longer. 

Footsteps approached him and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, awaiting pain, but it never came. The gentle hand had returned to his hair. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to open them and ruin the only pleasant moment that he’d had in years.

“Hey, can you look at me, please,” a soft voice asked. Kurt tried to oblige the request, but his eyelids felt heavy, always drooping back closed. The boy’s hand stayed in his hair, threading through it. “You can sleep if you want to, but I just wanted you to know that you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you now. I won’t hurt you.” 

The words were foreign, confusing, but the way they’d sounded when the boy had spoken them made them seem natural. Kurt tried to sit up and meet the boy’s gaze, but he couldn’t pull himself up, collapsing weakly back onto the blankets. 

“It’s okay. Don’t try and get up. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Can you tell me your name?”

Kurt quickly opened his mouth to answer, knowing the dangers of keeping a citizen waiting. He tried to speak but it felt like there was broken glass in his throat. The boy’s face screwed up in concern and he reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of water. 

Kurt felt a hand lifting his head up and the bottle being pressed to his lips. Terror flashed through Kurt and he flinched away from the bottle, remembering all at once his encounters of tampered-with bottles of water, something about the look on the boy’s face made Kurt trust him enough to take a sip, bracing himself for the bitter taste of medicine, but it never came. The water was pure, so he took a bigger drink, feeling the liquid soothe his throat. 

The bottle pulled away from his lips and he couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his features. It must have been noticed because the boy was apologizing, another foreign concept, and looking genuinely sorry. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to give you too much right now. I don’t know how you’ll handle it. I promise, I’ll give you more later. You can have all you want. Now, can you tell me your name?” 

Kurt used all of his effort to lift his head and meet the boy’s warm eyes again, and whispered, “Kurt.”

The boy spoke to Kurt softly and the tone of his voice brought tears to his eyes. It’s been so long since anyone had spoken to him with anything that resembled compassion. The boy had just finished speaking when a fit of coughs wracked Kurt’s body. 

The fit left him dizzy and breathless, trying to apologize. The young stranger soothed him when he tried to apologize, instructing him to lift his arms, and wrapped a jacket around him. It was still warm from the boy’s body heat. He wrapped the blankets around Kurt’s bare legs and asked if he could lift him. 

Kurt had looked at him, feeling astounded and confused as to why he was asking. Did he expect an answer? Why did it matter what Kurt wanted? The boy stood, waiting expectantly for Kurt’s answer before assuring him again that he was  _okay_ . What did that even mean? And then he asked again. Kurt realized that the boy was waiting for his answer before actually lifting him. The thought confused him completely, but he nodded his assent, whispering “Yes.” and the boy lifted him into his strong arms. 

He instinctively leaned into the boy’s body heat as they made it outside into the cold, but the boy was moving quickly toward a station wagon. 

He set Kurt inside and leaned over him and said, “You can lie down if you’d like. I’m going to take you home now. The car will be warm in a minute, but keep yourself wrapped up in those blankets, okay?” 

The soft backseat of the car coupled with the blankets was so much more than Kurt was used to. He was warm and felt himself slipping toward unconsciousness, far too tired to worry about where this new boy was taking him. 

The boy lifted Kurt and slid something soft under his head, and warm fingers were threading through his hair again. The touch was oddly relaxing and Kurt felt himself lean into it slightly. Quiet words accompanied the touch. “I promise I’m going to make you better, Kurt. No one will ever hurt you again, Kurt, I promise.” 

Emotions washed over Kurt and he felt tears in his eyes. Why was this boy speaking to him like that? Speaking to him as though he mattered? Warmth flooded through him as he looked up to meet the boy’s soft, compassionate eyes and he felt himself trusting the stranger. The honesty and kindness in his eyes was overwhelming. He didn’t even flinch when the boy reached for his hand. 

“Kurt,” he said slowly, trying to compose himself. “I need you to believe me. I will  _never_ let anything hurt you. I’m going to take you home and get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to figure out what you can eat, and then you are going to go to bed. I  _will_ take care of you, Kurt. I swear it.” 

The tone of the words was enough to make Kurt relax for the first time in years. He could feel the strength of the boy’s hand as it held his own, but he could also tell from this boy’s eyes that he’d never raised his hand in anger toward anyone. For the moment, looking into this boy’s eyes, Kurt felt  _safe._

The soft smile that lit up the boy’s face was nothing short of beautiful and he gave Kurt’s hand a final squeeze before crossing to the driver’s side and turning the car on. The gentle hum of the engine and the warmth of the blankets had Kurt near the brink of sleep within minutes. He nuzzled his head against the warm makeshift pillow underneath his head, letting the smell of the kind stranger’s cologne fill his nose as he drifted to sleep, warm and comfortable and safe. 

He was going to be  _okay_ .


End file.
